Margaret Truman's Experiment in Murder by Margaret Truman

money to indulge them. Will you be spending the night here so that you and he can work on those headaches of yours?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œA smart decision.” He indicated Itani’s empty glass. “You need a refill on that drink. Don’t be bashful.”
    Puhlman motioned for Elena to spend time with Itani. She stood with him at the bar as he waited for his third drink and suggested that he take it outside to the expansive wraparound terrace that provided a glittering view of the city. As they stood at a low stone wall that rimmed the terrace, Elena leaned easily against his side. “It’s beautiful, huh?”
    Itani didn’t answer. She glanced at him. He seemed to have slipped into a trance, vacant, not there, eyes focused on the horizon, breathing deeply.
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked.
    It took him a moment to return to the here and now. “Yes, I am fine. I was … thinking.”
    She smiled and said, “You seem like a very intelligent person, I mean for a boxer.”
    He turned and faced her. “Why do you think that?”
    â€œThink that? I—”
    â€œI am intelligent,” he said into the air.
    â€œI know. That’s what I said.”
    He turned from her and retreated into his own world again.
    Elena had become apprehensive. She’d had her share of weirdoes in the years that she’d been selling her body and wasn’t eager to end up with another. She relaxed when he again turned to her and smiled. “I am sorry,” he said. “I have these headaches that Dr. Borger will cure and they sometimes make me—” His smile turned into a laugh. “Make me a little crazy.”
    â€œI don’t think you’re crazy,” she said, rubbing her hand on his back. “I like you.”
    â€œI like you, too,” he said and sucked the rest of his Tom Collins through the straw.
    â€œYou need another drink,” she said.
    â€œYes, I do.”
    She accompanied him back inside, where the bartender obliged.
    â€œI’ll see you later,” she said. “You’re staying over, too. We’ll have plenty of time to talk and get to know each other better.”
    He spent the rest of the party in relative isolation, aside from the two psychiatrist colleagues of Borger’s who made it a point to initiate conversation with him. As they did, they performed their own preliminary evaluation of his ability to enter trance. As the party broke up, they told Borger that it was their collective opinion that he could be a 5 on the HIP scale, a rare hypnotic subject. Of course, they pointed out that further testing would have to be done.
    â€œI’ll be doing that tonight after everyone leaves,” Borger assured them. Neither of his colleagues was aware of the use to which Borger intended to put Itani. It was routine at the clinic to seek out good subjects for experimentation. That it was Borger’s intention to turn Itani into an assassin was not on their need-to-know list.
    Puhlman and Elena lingered after the others had left.
    â€œYou’ll excuse us,” Borger said. “Iskander and I have some work to do. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to get better acquainted after we’re done.” He said it to Elena, who smiled provocatively at Itani.
    Borger and Itani went to Borger’s study. It was a large, thickly carpeted room dominated by heavy black leather furniture including two recliners that faced each other. The blinds were tightly drawn; the only light came from a lamp situated over one of the recliners.
    â€œSit there,” Borger instructed, indicating the chair beneath the lamp.
    Itani stumbled as he moved to sit. The drinks had affected him; he felt light-headed.
    â€œComfortable?” Borger asked as he took the opposite chair.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. I want you to be comfortable, Iskander. Now, I am going to ask you to do a few things for me so that